


Snakes, Scorpions, Spiders, and Spreadsheets

by AcadianWitch



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, F/F, Gen, Male Crona (Soul Eater), Not a terrible mother!Medusa, Past Sibling abuse, Sibling Rivalry, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, in a throwaway sentence, reference to alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 10:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16972656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcadianWitch/pseuds/AcadianWitch
Summary: Right when Medusa believed everything was going to be all nice and cheery at her quaint little job as a lab tech, life deals her a poor hand, and she finds herself stuck in a miserable wasteland of a city without a job. A strange job offering from her estranged younger sibling Shaula leads her into a dull mostly uneventful life of an office worker under her eldest sister Arachne, destined to become absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of things. Still, this place isn't all bad. After all, work environments are a great place to hold impromptu family reunions, surely? (Resbang 2018)





	1. The usual, miss?

**Author's Note:**

> This is my submission for the 2018 Soul Eater Resonance Bang prompt "Out of the woods". Please, please, check out my wonderful artists, whitewillowtea's contribution to this work at https://whitewillowtea.tumblr.com/post/181050477376/snakes-scorpions-spiders-and-spreadsheets-proud. They were incredible to work with and I'm very happy they chose to work with me. Without further ado, do enjoy.

...

 

“The usual, miss?”

The whole atmosphere of the cafe is one she’s gotten so used to, but she can never decide whether or not she likes it. Soft jazz plays through the speakers, the aroma of coffee and pastries permeates every corner of the establishment. The staff are all dressed in needlessly fanciful uniforms, they all speak in flowery patterns. Actually, she can’t stand the latter bit, but she smiles and accepts it.

“The usual.” She confirms, as she goes to crack her knuckles and scan the hordes of other patrons, all shuffling about and talking about inane things that will never concern her. The largely built manager nods, raises his notepad, and clicks open his pen.

“Name?”

She would roll her eyes if he wasn’t staring dead at her. He knows well who she is, there’s hardly been a day that goes by when she doesn’t come here. She supposes that it’s a formality or rule they have to follow.

“Medusa.” She responds, folding her arms. He nods and gives a familiar smile before jotting the order down on a pen. Even with the hundreds of people that flock to the store every day, he found it remarkably easy to remember her order: the darkest roast of coffee, black. Before either of them can walk away, an assistant of the manager nervously taps him on the shoulder and hands him a note, followed by a hasty explanation of something that his superior only responds to by nodding and waving Medusa down as his assistant fumbles with a horde of machines behind the counter.

“Yeah… apparently we had someone come in earlier and queue an order for you.” He begins to explain, squinting at the lengthy order on the note.

Medusa raises an eyebrow as she pulls up the sagging shoulder of her jacket. “Who? What did they order?”

“Didn’t leave a name, paid upfront though. Specified that it was for you… a latte. Wanted art done, too-Tsugumi!” He calls mid sentence to the girl with twintails fumbling with paper cups, trying her best not to spill the hot liquid. She finishes snapping a lid on before running it over to the manager, who smiles as she runs off to her other duties. He slides it across the counter along with her original coffee elegantly.

“Hope you enjoy, do come back again!” He exclaims before walking off, leaving her to collect the mysterious cup and gently open the lid, moving off to the side to lean up against a wall. Her amber eyes scan the liquid, caramel colored, traced with gentle white lines of foam. They form a very simple symbol: the letter “M” with an arrow following the right side of it. It takes her a minute of retrospection, combined with dodging the bustling yuppies that frequent the cafe, before she comes to a realization. Scorpio. Medusa rolls her eyes to no one in particular, before retreating from the counter, content to slink into the table at the edge of the store that she usually sits at. 

Her eyes finally fall upon her usual sanctuary: a small table for two, with chairs sitting opposite a rickety, barely functioning table. One of the legs is basically broken, the whole damn thing wobbles, but really she doesn’t mind. After all, she muses as she sits down in one of the stiff wooden seats, it provides her with the one nice thing still left in her life: peace and quiet. No, the cryptic message doesn’t even concern her, the point slipping her mind as she lays her head back, content to just let the soft jazz rock her to a different realm of consciousness. 

The greatest things, she comes to find, don’t always last. 

She’s snapped out of her reverie by the loud clacking of heels against the tiled floor, as she finds her eyes glaring at the wooden ceiling, awash with soft yellow lights. Medusa sighs, before waving in the general direction of whatever interloper stands near her.

“Yes, what do you want?” She inquires dismissively.

The figure near her shuffles in place to cross it’s arms, before sighing purposefully loud, enough to where Medusa is forced to move locks of her golden hair out of her face to slowly turn her head in the general direction of whatever seeks to ruin her morning.

“Oh, is that really the most polite of a greeting you can give to me? Dear sister.”

Medusa’s annoyed gaze widens as she falls upon the lady standing in front of her, their eyes leveling as soon as the other identifies herself. Medusa recognizes that voice; bratty, arrogant, wild. She sets the coffee cup down on the rickety table, lucky enough to find that it doesn’t slide down just yet, before crossing her arms again.

“Shaula.”

Shaula leans her head, almost as form of counter to Medusa’s palpable passive-aggressiveness.

“Medusa.”

Medusa shakes her head, rolls her eyes, before internally wondering why this had to happen today of all times. She slept horribly, and, really the last thing she wants is an impromptu family reunion in the middle of one of the few calm moments she has to herself.

Shaula doesn’t acknowledge the slights of character against her, before slowly placing herself in the seat opposite of Medusa, and placing her arms on the ragged table, as she turns to let her chin rest on her open palm. 

“Ah, I see you got that little gift of mine.” She states, tilting her head in the direction of the eggshell white cup. Medusa simply returns a flat glare.

“Yeah, I got it. Real cute.” She snarks. “I don’t even drink lattes. Sugary shit, can’t stand it.”

Shaula responds so quickly she’s on the borderline of interrupting, although she never truly crosses that fine border. “I don’t disagree, I like the espressos, myself.” 

“Why are you doing this?”

The sudden inquiry by medusa is enough to make Shaula frown in an exaggerated manner and rest her head against the top of her right hand, a feign of innocence. “Oh, what do you mean by that, sis’?”

“Stop that. The fake friendly thing, please stop. You don’t care about coffee,” She continues to muse, jutting a finger at Shaula. “You always drank those energy drinks that tasted like paint thinner.”

The younger woman can only smirk. Of course, Medusa isn’t wrong. Nice, perfect, intelligent Medusa. Borderline sociopath Medusa. The same Medusa that bullied her throughout childhood. She suppresses the memories, before lowering her arms to lay flat against the table.

“I’m doing this because you’re so cute when you’re angry.” She explains, lowering her head to lay against her arm. 

Blood rushes to the elder’s face, the heat radiating out from it almost matching that which blasts out from the coffee cups.

“You’re a pest, you know that? And stop trying to out bitch Arachne, you’re not as threatening.” She demands, firmly racking her knuckles against the table, inciting Shaula to frown again. Really, Shaula had done her best to distance herself from both of her elder sisters; yet, every time she found herself finally truly accomplishing something, she would find those supports kicked away by some event. So, she eventually became complacent enough to stay close to the side of her eldest, what was the alternative? Mother wasn’t around, even if she greatly preferred her to her siblings. Her eyes close lazily in an attempt to remember her, as Medusa impatiently taps the table.

“Hey, hey, snap out of it. What do you want? Why are you here?”

Shaula sighs absentmindedly. “You still braid your hair like that?” She questions, pointing to the entwined segments of hair that rest over the blonde’s chest. Medusa grits her teeth angrily, before exhaling in a frustrated manner. 

“Shaula. What do you want...?” She restates. 

“Alright, alright...” Shaula mutters, adjusting the unnatural length of her hair to rest over her shoulder. She reaches into a small handbag she has resting near the chair she sits in, before triumphantly pulling out a beige folder, a bunch of nonsense legalese jotted all over it. She throws it over the counter, as Medusa leans over to catch it. 

The folder contains nothing Medusa can decipher on the outside, and it remains a mystery until she opens it at Shaula’s insistence. The first paper, printed up elegantly on delicate card stock,has upon it hundreds of sentences and abbreviations, and she barely skims over it before looking at Shaula annoyance born of confusion 

“What the hell is this?” She asks, holding it by the edges in one hand.

The smirking pest simply shrugs her arms in a feign of innocence. “An application.”

Medusa rolls her eyes in an even more exaggerated manner, before reminding herself that causing a scene in public would be a bad idea. “What KIND of application?”

“For a job!” Shaula shoots back, giving a lazy thumbs-up. “I heard you were unemployed, I figured it was a decent offer-”

The elder waves her hands rapidly to get the younger to shut up. “What kind of job? Where the hell did you learn about me being unemployed? How is that your business anyways?” She demands, slamming the slip of paper back down onto the table, nearly sending the furniture crashing down. Shaula shirks back from the commotion, and only can respond my mimicking the hand waving, except in a defensive manner. 

“Please calm down!” She begs, most of the former sense of superiority melting away in Medusa’s glare, “I was curious if you wanted to join me… it’s office work.” Is all she can say before doing her best to avoid looking her sister in the eyes, finding the constant staring to be too nerve wracking. Medusa takes notice of the others’ collapsing sense of confidence, before rolling her eyes.

“I’m a researcher. I don’t do ‘office work’. Typing meaningless numbers in a spreadsheet for hours a day? Please.” She concludes. Something takes a hold of her, an idea; she juts a finger at Shaula for the second time.

“Did Arachne put you up to this?” 

Shaula responds by doing her best to brace against the onslaught of Medusa’s personality. “N-no! Look, I got accepted, and I figured you would want a job. It’s a take it or leave it situation, I’m not forcing you to do anything. It’s ‘office work’, they’ll assign you to something whenever you get there, I guess.” She concludes, regaining some confidence that was only briefly shattered. 

Medusa shakes her head before taking another purposefully lengthy sip of now lukewarm coffee. “Four years of college for this shit… My division got hit by layoffs, if you were curious, although I suppose you already know that, huh?”

Her comment bounces against Shaula, making little of a real impact, to her mild surprise. Her mind jolts back to college, years of delicate studying in the library, dealing with her bratty yuppie classmates, more concerned with getting wasted rather than doing anything productive. Science. She repeats in her head; that’s why she went. Sure, they taught her little she didn’t already know, and she had to abide by their silly rules, and when she finally obtained her degree she quickly forgot about all the weasel professors. For her efforts, she was allowed to work in a nice little lab on the outskirts of a rural town, far away from the constant pestering efforts of bureaucrats to limit their work. She and her coworkers were brilliant, some to a fault. They skirted ethical bounds, and Medusa often felt as though she was with people who understood her. Many times did they come so close to groundbreaking discoveries, ones that would send shock waves throughout the ranks of the old dolts in charge, truly, they would be the ones to make the world a bit more chaotic. 

“Funding problems...” She says unnaturally loudly, trapped in her trance to where she fails to notice Shaula’s confused expression. It all came down to cash, and they weren’t exactly producing marketable materials. So, they were just quietly let go. Left to drift among the winds, to float wherever they were needed, destined to one day find their place in the world. 

...At least, that’s what the prissy “therapist” stationed with them said. All Medusa had done since then was run around the city she now lived in, smoking cigarette butts and doing odd jobs. She shakes her head before running through the application, filled with various lines where one would write self-congratulatory fluff about oneself. 

“You okay over there?” Shaula inquires, raising an eyebrow and adjusting the collar on the sailor uniform she always could be found running around in. Medusa waves her hand dismissively. 

“I’m fine. I’ll look into it. Not like I have anything better to do...” She bargains.

“Good. Coworkers...” Shaula nervously proposes, a hint of airy disdain flying along with her words; Medusa chooses to ignore it. “Well… good seeing you! Uh, call me if they accept, you know…?” 

Medusa nods in response, just desperate to get her out of here so she can go back to basking in the nice quiet atmosphere that she is barely afforded these days. Shaula sense that she isn’t really welcomed here anymore, before slinking off, her purse handing off her shoulder. Medusa finally gives a genuine smile for the first time in a week; finally, silence. She leans back in her chair, her feet propped to where she won’t fall over. It’s nice, really. The calm music, the nice aroma that wraps around the cafe… it all blends together to create the only nice thing she has nowadays. One hand holds the now cold coffee cup, the other taps against the folder, with the application sitting atop it.

New job, huh? No way Arachne isn’t involved in this somehow. She thinks. The eldest of all three of them has a way with words, silken ones, laced with lies in venom. Shaula had stuck by Arachne’s side ever since mother had left, or died, or whatever the hell happened to her, Medusa had stopped caring years ago. The youngest was born a follower, even if she despised being compared to the two her elder. She means well, I guess. Medusa figures, still well aware that Shaula probably has no real desire to talk to Medusa on a daily basis again. She rolls her eyes. Bullying… cry me a river, that girl needed to toughen up. She internally argues, remembering the do-goody whining of those who considered themselves superior to her. 

Nothing really phases her anymore. She stays like this for a few more minutes, before deciding to go steal a pen from some unsuspecting patron.

 

...  
You think she’ll submit the application?

Shaula sits on a bench on the corner of a street, fumbling with something in her purse as she tries to talk on her banged up flip phone.

“I-I mean, I guess. Why the hell wouldn’t she? I get that she doesn’t like me but-”

Stop saying that, she doesn’t hate you, dear. 

“Yeah? Well I hate her!” Shaula snaps, only noticing the overly hostile tone after she says it. The domineering voice on the other end sighs in a way that makes goosebumps rise on her skin.

Calm down, you’re going to need to get past that if we end up working together.

“But Arachn-” Shaula attempts to counter, before being cut off.

‘But Arachne!’ nothing. Medusa is an ass, I agree, but we kind of need her right now; we’re not out of the woods just yet.

“You think she’ll do alright with working at the office?”

I hope. Look, I have things to do, I’ll talk to you later. Love you.

Shaula doesn’t even get a chance to respond to the passive display of affection before the line is cut, and she’s left to angrily rummage through her purse; where the hell is that damn eyeliner?

Arachne, for her part, sits in her overly luxurious study, idly sipping on champagne. She’s gambling a good bit with that decision, and she only hopes it will pay off. Maybe “gamble” is a bit strong a word, but Medusa is a tad… unstable.

 

...


	2. Fine, fine!

“Who are you texting…?”

He scarcely has a moment to react before deep amber irises glare down upon him, and he instinctively clutches his phone to his chest. Fifteen years haven’t dulled the frightening effect they have on his psyche, the way they seem to wear down on any of his emotional defense. 

Fifteen very long and numb years haven’t made his excuses any more convincing. 

“No one- nothing!” He hastily attempts to explain, jolting out of his chair. “God, you don’t need to hang over me every waking moment.”

Medusa rolls her eyes in a painfully exaggerated manner, before leaning against the kitchen counter and crossing her arms. “Sure thing, Crona. How’s your little girlfriend doing these days?”

“Her name is Maka, and she is not my girlfriend! Besides, so what if she is!” Crona spits back, crossing his arms in an attempt to match his mother. Of course he knows why, and Medusa takes every chance she can as to remind him why. 

“I don’t like her.” She hisses. That little twin-tailed girl is a nuisance, too saccharine. She raise him to be strong, to never back down, to boldly advance against everything that was established in the world; in that girl’s presence, he became putty in her hands, it disturbs her on a strangely visceral level.

The air that flows throughout the small little apartment they’ve grown used to has grown stale and humid with an odd concoction of contempt, boiled over anger, and just general frustration. He uses the lull as an excuse to untie the deep black tie that adorns his dress shirt, his face flushed. Staring at the fabric gives him a chance to collect his thoughts before angrily storming off towards the hallway and the door that sits to his room.

“I-I don’t need this!” He yells, his voice travelling loudly at first, but quickly faltering against the walls of the hallway.

Medusa sighs loudly. “Don’t get too comfortable, we’re having dinner with your aunt in a bit.” She attempts to explain, half of her sentence being cut off by the loud slamming of a door. It was times like this that made her question all those pamphlets she read about how raising a child got easier as they aged. Like hell it does! Her internal musings are quickly cut off by the unmistakable feeling that, above all, she’s being watched. 

“Teenagers, huh…?”

Medusa snaps her head towards the main doorway at an almost frightening pace, her hand bolting to the pocket knife she keeps on the counter. What instinct she briefly operated on is culled by an all too familiar (and unwelcome) face peering through the crack between the door.

“Shaula.”

The younger swallows through the lump in her throat and half-sarcastically waves through the jammed door, held in ardent resistance by a chain. “Ne-chan!”

There’s very little Medusa can think about wanting to do more than not have this stupid little get-together, but Shaula insisted. Something about important business, catching up on the past, or some other prattle. The elder rolls her eyes again, before going to fumble with the lock and chain, it clicks out of place with a loud clank.

Swinging the door open, both of them are now attempting to stair each other down, even if Medusa clearly wins such a competition. Shaula nervously tugs on the collar of her sailor fuku, before awkwardly extending an open hand. Medusa eyes it a few times.

“Shake it.”

“Why?”

“Because!” Shaula proclaims, “we’re working together now, aren’t we? Fresh beginnings, y’know…?”

Medusa glares down at her hand, seemingly contemplating the scenario. She reaches out and grabs the hand, firmly shakes, and walks back into the kitchen, preferring not to dwell on what her sister considers proper formality anyways.

“Close the door behind yourself and lock it.” She commands, satisfied to quickly hear a metallic snap following it. 

Shaula nervously examines the interior of the apartment as Medusa fumbles around in the kitchen, a few pots and pans clanging together. “So!” She declares, clapping her hands together, “you sent the application in, they should give you something back so-”

Her attempt at idle conversation is cut off by Medusa swearing as yet another utensil bounces off the floor, and she has to stop to seethe for a moment. When her anger cools, she glares back at her sister, her eyes squinting.

“Why… why did you call me that?” She nonsensically inquires.

“W-what?”

“Ne-chan. What the hell does that mean?”

Shaula blinks a few times before deciding to seize the closest thing she’ll get to an opportunity. “Oh! That’s Japanese! It means ‘big sister’!” She beams, her enthusiastic smile deteriorating against Medusa’s look of unrepentant disdain.

Medusa rolls the sleeves of her hoodie up in an aloof manner, passively rolling her eyes as she turns away from Shaula to set the stove alight. “Oh. I guess that explains the sailor uniform? I told you to stop watching cartoons years ago.”

“It’s called anime, and why are you being such an ass?” Shaula spits back.

“I’m sure it is, and I’m doing it because you need to grow up-”

The sound of heels snapping against the hardwood floor shirk her from her from her culinary duties. “What do you mean, ‘grow up’? I barely had a childhood because of you!”

“Here we go...” Medusa mumbles, the mocking crackling of the flames in front of her serving only to further her annoyance. “Listen, why did you want to have dinner? There are a lot more things I would rather do, and if you haven’t noticed, I have responsibilities.” She concludes, gesturing towards the hallway and room where Crona is currently voicing his frustrations into a pillow. 

“T-turn the stove off. Look...” Shaula attempts to respond, pausing to run her face through her hands. “...I just wanted to talk. Can we do that without you rolling your eyes, please?” 

Medusa promptly does exactly that in response, reaching behind her to click off the burner and cross her arms. “Fine. What do you want to talk about?”

“Do you hate me?”

“...What?”

Shaula crosses her arms to match Medusa. “You heard me.”

Of course she’s like this now. Shaula doesn’t get many chances to be so assertive these days, but Medusa quickly picks up on her style; it’s bratty and arrogant. Something about the way she said that sentence drives the blonde up a wall. 

“No, I don’t hate you, Shaula.” Medusa states, allowing her arms to drop into her pockets.

“Then why are you like this?” Shaula whines, a look of defeated sadness on her face. 

“Like what?”

Shaula grits her teeth and throws her arms outwards. “Like this! We hadn’t seen each other for nearly two years since three days ago. You don’t return my calls, you never tell me what you’ve been up to...” She angrily continues, counting on her fingers before throwing one of her hands in the direction of the hallway. “I barely get to see my nephew for Christ’s sake!” She concludes, the litany of other questions she could ask currently escaping her for the more important ones. 

“Don’t bring my son into this.” Medusa snaps. “Look, I’m sorry if my life plans conflicted with whatever the hell you wanted us to do, but I have my own life, you realize this yes?”

The two of them are now quiet, silently glaring daggers at each other. Neither of them were ever ones to argue very much, Medusa because she found it pointless, Shaula because she was too scared, too frightened to say anything for fear of further bullying. She can’t deny, however: there’s something so cathartic about yelling at someone who actually plans on seemingly listening this time around. Of course, nothing will actually change. She tries so hard to be bright, cheery, nice, and it all comes crumbling down as soon as she realizes how good it feels. 

Medusa shakes her head in the absence of further speech, propping herself up onto the counter. “Besides, you got what you wanted anyways. Starting this Monday we’ll be happy little coworkers, isn’t that just nice?”

Shaula jolts from the wall she’s leaning on, balling her fists up at Medusa’s words. “That’s not what I wanted, at all! Really, I would’ve been just fine staying far away from you. I want to get along with you, but you act the same every time I try!” 

The elder lazily rests her eyes on Shaula. “Then why did you give me that job offer?” She pines. Of course, her suspicions are basically confirmed by this point. She should have trusted her gut in the first place, and now look where she is. 

“Because Arachne told me that it was a good idea. You happy now?” Shaula states, cocking her head behind her in no specific reference, as blood rushes to Medusa’s face. Of course, she knew by this point, but hearing the words makes it see even worse. 

Medusa throws her hands up, exasperated. “Of course she did. Of course! Why the fuck did I expect anything else… what motive does she have in this?” She interrogates, on the cusp of her voice cracking out of a mixture of anger and frustration. 

The amber irises that glare back at Shaula make her cringe backwards defensively, she’s been on the receiving end of that gaze one too many times to try to take the high ground. Some of her confidence is washed, but she remains as steadfast as possible. 

“I don’t know why, Medusa. I don’t know why Arachne does most of the things she does. Why don’t you ask her yourself, you have her number. Might do you some good...” She chides, her voice trailing off.

Shaula’s aloof speech doesn’t do anything to calm or reassure Medusa. Maybe Shaula got along with Arachne just fine throughout their life, but Medusa could never stand the way her eldest sister talked, it was always so fake, so manipulative. Words laced with too much venom, too standoffish and demeaning, they were words meant to break someone into submission, they weren’t the words of a normal person. She can’t help but giggle through her anger; none of them were ever normal people. Picking her head back up, a dreadful smile crosses her lips inadvertently, causing the lump growing in Shaula’s throat to seem ever denser. 

“Listen. I don’t hate you. But you make it oh so hard not to. For your sake, let’s just hope this is nothing more than one of Arachne’s ego trips.” Medusa concludes, the crooked grin slowly falling from her face as she tries to condense her rage, preferring to save her energy for more productive tasks. 

It’s only then that Medusa notices something different, something she becomes surprised she never noticed before. It causes her face to be quickly awash in morbid curiosity. 

“Did… did you dye your hair?”

The sudden change in conversation topic, combined with the frontal way she asks it does little to calm Shaula’s nerves, who shirks back again, rubbing her shaking hands over her raven-black braids. “Ah… yeah. Do you like it…?”

Medusa could never understand her sister’s fondness for spending so much time on her hair. She preferred the strange braids she was so used to, and that was about it, anything more or less seemed to strange, trying far too hard. Still, she has memories from her childhood of being stuck watching Shaula, as she spent borderline three hours braiding it so elegantly, until it formed a neat little allusion to the stinger of a scorpion. The color of her hair always mystified her, no one could ever fully explain it. Father couldn’t, mother always laughed it off, Arachne simply shrugged. They always assumed it was a quirk of genetics.

Here it now was, black as the night.

“No. Who told you to fix it like that? Arachne?”

Her blunt critique cause Shaula to stutter in responding, her face flushing with a mixture of embarrassment and residual anger. She clutches one hand around the singular braid, normal as everyone else now. “N-no one did… I just thought it would look nice...”

Shaula always operated on an unstable mixture of pride and nervousness whenever anyone bothered to discuss her hair. Pride whenever someone complimented it in her everyday routine, nervous rejection whenever she received odd glances in the street. Medusa, for one, never seemed to care too much. All she did was blow her breath as she sat on the floor cross legged outside the bathroom while she endlessly fixed it, no imperfection escaping her sight. Something hits hard, even if it shouldn’t.

Black and gold fingernails scrape against the inside of Medusa’s palm, and awkward and deeply unstable silence emerging between the two. Three minutes ago, Shaula was yelling and charging her with all sorts of things, and now here she is struggling to get words out; and over her hair, of all things.

“Do you want to say hello to Crona? He’s in his room, if you want-” She attempts to offer, cut of by Shaula waving her arms dimly. 

“No, no, I don’t want to be a bother. Just forget I said anything, I’ll call you l-later.” Shaula stammers out, adjusting her collar and beginning to head for the door, only stopped by Medusa signaling with a mild ‘wait!’.

She takes a deep breath before continuing, her sister halfway out of the door as she drops from the counter to her feet. “We’ll… we’ll talk later, okay? I’ll call you tomorrow night and we’ll discuss work. Get some sleep, you look terrible.” Medusa concludes, tapping her cheeks as a gesture to the dark circles forming below Shaula’s watery eyes.

The younger simply nods, her fingers rubbing against the worn wooden construction of the door. She glances back one last time at Medusa’s eyes, slightly warmer than they usually are, and waves. “Goodnight...” She mumbles, before walking past the door frame, the sound of it cracking close snapping anyone in the immediate vicinity awake. Medusa’s shoulders slump as she hears the quick stepping of heels against the hallway outside her apartment. 

“You think I could get a job…?”

Medusa is snapped from her state as she looks to the hallway, Crona peeking from behind one of the walls. His little gray eyes are planted with a mix of concern and curiosity. She rolls her eyes, again.

“How much of that have you been listening to?”

He gives a half-hearted shrug. “Most of it. So-”

She shakes her head quickly before he can reiterate his position. “Maybe? You’re fifteen, you wanna’ work now?”

Crona nods, his uneven pink hair fluttering with the air vent directly above him blowing down chilly blasts upon him. Medusa nervously chuckles and plants her hand into her forehead, burning to the touch. “We’ll see, you would still have schoolwork to do.” She states, as he furrows his brow slightly in response.

“You were kind of mean to her. She just wants to be nice.” Her son muses, showing no immediate emotion other than curiosity from his idle blinking. 

Medusa snaps out of her mood to joint a pointer finger at him. “I didn’t ask for your opinion on what I do, Crona.” She voices, refusing his charges.

The boy looks at the ground as he tries to come up with another response. “B-but-”

“’But!’ nothing, Crona. Don’t talk back to me; I’m the adult, you aren’t.” She declares, jolting a look to the aged clock that hangs over their stove. Seven-thirty? Shit!

Her hands reach to grab her phone, her fingers swiping her password, confirming success with a little rumble. She uses her other hand to wave him away. “We’re eating TV dinners tonight, go back to your room, I have some calls to make, okay?” 

Crona groans reflexively, although he knows it won’t result in any changes to the current circumstances. Still, an alert from his phone at least gives him something to look forward to.

The few flurry of actions she does next involve fumbling with her phone while trying to operate their barely working microwave, the kitchen soon becoming a noxious haven of smoke and half burnt meat. Still, even hours later, as everything is quiet, and she lays trying to sleep, she feels a strange emotion she hasn’t felt in a while: guilt. She wonders if she should call Shaula and try to apologize, before rationalizing that it wouldn’t make things any better. Does she even care? She checks her phone one last time, the light glowing down onto her expanded pupils, the display reads “SATURDAY” in bright capital letters. The weekends never fascinated her much. There’s no work to have off from, no satisfaction to be had. That will change soon, and she dimly attempts to recall what the agent, some rattly girl named Eruka, she spoke to said about the current positions open: accounting.

Spreadsheets. She mutters in her mind, the palpable disgust will later spill into dreams. 

 

…

 

The coffee shouldn’t taste this bitter.

There aren’t too many things that Medusa has to change. Still, she’s going to a new job. A new her. She rolls her eyes as she rubs the sleep from her eyes, there’s that constant thought and worry of how ravenously dull this whole matter is going to be. The fabric from her shirt digs uncomfortably at her skin, she already misses the feel of her jackets. Just another thing she’ll have to get used to if she wants to “succeed” at this wastrel occupation. But at least she has her coffee, even if there’s less joy to be found in drinking it compared to last time.

She walks up the concrete steps, her flats gently tapping against them, providing the only audible stimulation one could gain from this corporate wasteland. There isn’t any smooth jazz to lure her into a sense of comfort, just some glass doors and modernist architecture that force a feeling of dread into her mind. She slowly lifts her cup to her lips, and takes another long, slow, unsavory drink. Medusa puts her hands, nails painted black, against the cold glass of the front doors, and she prepares herself, before throwing open the doors, prepared for whatever bureaucratic nightmare that awaits her…

Empty lobby.

Fine, no grand entrance. Her amber eyes scan the room, mostly plain with some tacky and awfully cheap statues that litter parts of the floor and desks. There’s no receptionist, nothing to really greet her. Then what does she do? Where does she clock in? Dimly, it occurs to her that she should’ve planned for this a bit better, but her woeful apathy so far has impeded any of that. The small central desk grabs her attention, as a white note with hastily written words lies on it.

Hi!!!

I am very sorry if any new employees arrived early before I came back! Please just sign in at the bottom of the page, we’ll get your time cards sorted out later. Oh, and lunch breaks are thirty minutes, from 12:00 to 12:30. Leniency here has not been approved yet, sorry!

-Eruka

Medusa hastily scribbles her signature on one of the lines towards the end of the page, past a few other she neither recognizes, nor does she care to figure out. Still, she remembers “Eruka”. Wasn’t that the lady she talked to to actually send in her application? She concludes not to think about it much further, preferring just to actually get settled in. The silver elevator awaiting for her at the other end of the room seems like as good a place to start as any.

Her fist hits the button, a bit more forceful than necessary, and it lights up with a dim orange glow. A row of LEDs light up in a specific pattern, a bright and bold “1” shows. After a minute of humming, the great doors before her part, to reveal a quiet and seemingly empty car. She promptly steps in, before darting her eye to the row of buttons to the right, trying to remember what floor she was assigned to.

Four? No, five…. yeah, five.

Again, her finger goes to hover over a button, this time a bit less sure of anything. Her skin rubs against the plastic of the button, before she finally goes to confirm her wavering choice, but something interrupts.

“Hey! HEY! Hold up please!”

The yell is accompanied by a woman almost crashing through the doors, running far past the sheet Medusa used. Medusa cocks an annoyed eyebrow, even as she extends her arms to block any theoretical closure of the doors, despite her lack of any selection of floor. The sound of heels slamming against the hard floor make Medusa flinch despite the lack of danger; she’s definitely going to have to go to bed earlier than midnight, at this rate. What time is it anyways...? She puts finding out off to huddle in the corner so the lady can dash her way inside, her feet breaking against the floor of the car. The oddly pale and skin lady nervously pants, as she begins to take her incredibly ill fitting coat off. Medusa eyes slant.

“Heh-heh... thanks miss, my alarm didn’t go off like usual.” The newcomer explains, tossing her coat over her shoulder to reveal a meticulously tied braid. Her skirt is long and dark blue, almost to the point of being black. Although initially hidden by the overly warm light, she turns around with closed eyes and extends a hand to thank her morning “savior”.

“I don’t know if we’ve met before, but my name is Shaula...” She offers, her voice trailing off as her eyes slowly open and droop. Her hand falls by her side as she nervously steps back and offers something else: an awkward smile. 

“M-Medusa...”

“Shaula.” The blonde offers, a bit more authority in her voice. 

Shaula swallows at the growing lump in her throat, before nervously adjusting the collar of her uniform. Of course it’s Medusa. “Uhm, good morning... floor four.”

Medusa stops for a moment, before turning and mentally berating herself for losing another personal battle. She swears that froggy receptionist said four. Four. Four. Four. She repeats as the word begins to sound like gibberish, as her fist again connects with a button, this time the one she was less inclined to press. The room around them chimes, as the door slowly begin to close. It takes an agonizing minute before they begin to ascend. 

Neither of them want to be here. Whether it’s at the office or in this elevator is wholly irrelevant, the feeling is the same. Shaula tugs at her braids, seemingly trying to lay them over her left shoulder, Medusa idly sips coffee while emotions tug at her. It’s a coin flip to see who will attempt to talk first.

“How did you sleep?” 

The voice is the more sully and off-putting one. Medusa cocks her eyes to look at Shaula, her glare more negated, a bit less cold. It’s not exactly warm, but... neutral. Shaula supposes it’s better than nothing.

“Fine, I guess. Was feeling... bad, last night, just didn’t get much sleep.” She grumbles, offering a meandering shrug as a token of some form of reassurance. “W-what about you?”

The elevator dings.

Medusa tilts her head downwards, to stare at her feet that tap seemingly in rhythm with the elevator. “Alright.”

Her one word answer seemingly kills any further mood the two of them have to continue any form of small talk, both of them very much preferring for this accursed contraption to get them to the fourth floor so they can do what they’re getting paid to do. Medusa feels obliged to repeat that word in her head again: Accounting. Fourth floor.

“About Saturday-” Medusa attempts to state, before being cut off disturbingly quick by Shaula.

 

“It’s fine, I really don’t want to talk about it.” She mutters. She could say something, she wants to say something, but she can’t get the words out in a manner that wouldn’t make her appear too “emotional”, and appearances matter more than most would think here.

“You sure?”

“Yes. Please, just... not now.” Shaula finishes. She wants to feel angry for once in her life. She’s entitled to that, isn’t she? 

The elevator dings again, for the fourth time, and both of them blow a sigh of relief. Shaula steps out into the blinding array of fluorescent lights first, before waving to Medusa from behind her. Medusa steps into place, exactly where she feels she is needed, and begins to feast her eyes on a new form of hell. 

Corporate.

Every single one of those truly atrocious soap operas she remembers finding and watching whenever there was nothing on TV when she was younger, they all had offices. They were always the same, a gray condominium of boxes, goons in suits and skirts, with no personalities to distinguish themselves from any other worker. The bleak beige and black color scheme makes her grossed out on a primal level, even if she herself always had an appreciation for efficiency. For science. Looking at it that way didn’t make it seem too bad. She starts smirking for a moment, before Shaula nudges her on the shoulder. 

“I’ll show you around, if you want.” She offers, her face mostly blank and tired. Bags have started forming under her eyelids, barely hid by a generous layer of makeup. The outfit she’s wearing is a bit more “normal”, her neckerchief tied fashionably tight to her neck. It isn’t what she wants to wear, and Medusa finds that plainly obvious. She ignores it to accept her invitation.

They start walking, a brisk pace that Medusa quickly comes to match. It doesn’t really matter who they sit around, Medusa really hopes she doesn’t grow to attached to any of these people. Shaula, for her part, just wants to get started. They find themselves tucked tactically away into a corner near the front of the building, as Shaula nervously opens an energy drink, the eye-searing neon colors making Medusa cringe on a base level. Shaula takes a sip, sighs, and points to a man grumbling in the corner.

“That guy, with the messed up hair and windbreaker? Giriko, he works security.” She explains, as Medusa twirls one of the loose strands of her golden hair around her finger. Her eyes squint at the name.

“That Giriko? Didn’t he date Arachne in high school...?”

Shaula giggles, both dreading the name of her eldest sister, the increased length of the conversation, yet almost happy to talk about the old days. “Yes. She brought him on years ago, gosh. I don’t think she ever let him go... Anyways, he doesn’t really do much except drink and look tough whenever we get some mongrel from the other branch.”

Medusa prefers not to ask about the “other branch”, given Shaula’s obvious disdain infused in her voice. Instead, she points to a man tucked leaning against a wall at the far end of the office, it’s hard to see him in form, as he mostly stands out from his ludicrously dated clothing. “Now who is that?”

Shaula’s eyes squint to the point where pink is the only color visible. “Mosquito. ‘General secretary’ they say, but really he just does whatever Arachne wants him to do. Pretty high strung otherwise, be careful. Oh, and the suit...? Yeah, he just started wearing those one day, and none of us had the heart to tell him otherwise.”

The blonde winces as the ever-growing freakshow, before sighing and arriving at the two questions she feels destined to pry about. “So, where do I sit?” She inquires, the first of her two major points. Shaula tilts her head before waving in a general direction, vaguely left. “Oh. Uh... over there, I think. Just pick a spot that looks free, I think you should’ve gotten a packet containing what we’ve been working on for a while.”

The slowly rising eyebrow of Medusa confirms Shaula’s suspicions. “Ah... no packet, okay. I’ll get Eruka to get you one, or something...” She concludes, mostly defeated.

“So, where’s Arachne? Since she seems to be such a big shot.” 

The younger sister nervously bats an eye to Medusa and back to the dark glass enclosure that Mosquito dutifully stands in front of. “Ah, she isn’t in today!” She proclaims, a bit too loudly and too suddenly to sound even somewhat convincing. Medusa ignores this and catches the direction of her worried glance, before smirking.

She begins to walk, it borders on a jog.

“Now wait, Medusa!” Shaula calls after her, nearly tripping over her heels in chase.

Of course, her words fall on deaf ears, because Medusa stopped caring whenever she was hit with that first, utterly intoxicating wave of fluorescent light. It was that moment that confirmed her suspicions. She’s just a little bit curious, that’s all.

…


	3. Silver sheen, black highlights

...

 

Truly, she’s a lady with a schedule to keep.

Nothing she does is out of a time slot. Her fingers rack against the desk, an audible way for her to confirm her suspicions of time. Right again. Angry footsteps make themselves well known, even for her mostly isolated little office room. The only way that the space is illuminated is by a dim lamp at the corner of her desk, enough to give her an imposing figure. Some would call it silly and say that she’s “trying too hard”. 

Arachne knows better.

Sure, her job isn’t really easy, but it’s plenty fun. They said she didn’t have the “necessary experience”, but she doesn’t see them managing anything anymore. A silver tongue and plenty of business sense; that’s all it took. Plenty of blood, sweat, and tears, too. Maybe she ruined a few lives on her way here, but hey; that’s just business. She casts a wide web, and it’s truly great fun to see everyone dance for her. After all, it’s her signature going on their checks.

Her eyes are starting to droop; a lack of sleep is starting to catch up with her. Turning on the lights might help, but that ruins the mood she works hard to cultivate. She twirls a pale finger through her pitch black hair, all she needs to do now is wait. Just another minute. She lifts a metal pen off her desk in anticipation.

The door clicks open. Not much to throw her visage into disarray, but enough to let in a bit of that obnoxious white light into the room. Arachne closes her eyes, a smile is growing on her face. She racks the end of the pen against the desk, the click that follows reverberating throughout it. Her hands move to hover the ballpoint over a small square on an open planner. 

The door shuts, the light is dashed.

Click. Click. Click.

She opens her eyes, they’re fixated on a clock hanging opposite her. A smile dots her lips. She marks the square until it’s wholly black.

Right on time.

She doesn’t even move her head from where it’s staring, she doesn’t need to, after all.

“Arachne.”

Amber slits peer back at her, they communicatnicates what she wants it to, and most of the people she hires are airheaded enough to fall for it. 

Medusa is most certainly not one of those people; Arachne is more than aware of this of course. Medusa is a prideful lady, maybe a bit hot headed at times. A bit too cold and emotionless at other points. That’s all water under the bridge now, of course. 

“What are you doing, Arachne?”

The blonde has her arms crossed, her face giving off no real emotion, except the scorn Arachne noted earlier. It’s almost cute, in a sense. Many people are threatened by Medusa, that serpentine menace. Arachne, of course, has spent far too long in this business to be intimidated by that nonsense.

“Sweet joy! We’ll be seeing each other a lot more now, isn’t that grand? I must say, you’re being a bit... standoffish though.” 

Medusa’s scowl is slowly growing. “Arachn-”

“It’s just bad conduct, that’s all!” Arachne chirps, a faux look of concern washing across her pale face. 

Medusa has to stop and calm down for a moment. She truly despises the way Arachne talks, she always has; it’s so saccharine and fake, yet so smug and threatening. All she can do is sigh. 

“Please, why are you doing this?” 

Arachne’s eyes are almost hidden by the poor lighting, but there’s an unmistakable softness to them that betrays her image. They communicate concern where there is absolutely none. “Doing what, dear?”

“Hire me. You know this isn’t what I even remotely want to do, what are you getting at?” Medusa inquires, her hand planted into her hip. 

Arachne smiles. “Getting at? I’m not ‘getting at’ anything, dear. I needed someone competent for the job, and you happened to be out of work so...” She explains, clasping her hands together. 

“But-”

“But nothing, sweetie! I’m sorry to disappoint, but I’m not doing any dumb little schemes anymore, if that’s what you wanted.”

Medusa grumbles to herself. She’s almost... disappointed, in a way. This should be more satisfying than it is. “It’s really just business?”

Arachne smiles, again. “Just business.”

Both of them have lived lives long enough to know that they don’t really trust each other. They didn’t when they were children, and they certainly don’t now. Circumstances change, of course, and why would either of them fight each other now? What could they even do?

“I’ve moved beyond that!” Arachne suddenly declares, sliding a bottle of amber liquid across the desk. She gestures gently towards a chair that sits across from her, much less elegant than the one she uses, of course. 

“Sit.” 

“No.”

Arachne rolls her eyes. “I’m not asking for much, just sit down, we’ll share a drink. Think of it as a celebration of sorts. Dearest little sister is getting a new job, isn’t that wonderful?”

“Don’t play coy with me.” Medusa retorts, her eye twitching. “I don’t know why you brought me here, but it can be for good.”

Arachne is disappointed. She expected Medusa to have a more varied reaction. Medusa was so unpredictable back in the day, and she attempted to account for that. Arachne hates to repeat herself, but she makes an exception.

“Medusa, I’ll say it once more: I want you to work for me, and I think you’re capable. That’s what you agreed to do, this is your job now. Let’s make it pleasant, please.”

Medusa has already move towards the door, almost foreboding in the artificially dark room. Her hand runs over the cold steel of the handle, and she grumbles quietly to herself. Is this really it? She thinks. She shoots back a quick glance.

“I... I don’t drink.”

Click. Click. Click.

Arachne is swiftly left alone, a truly useless conservation now behind her. She sighs, makes a few more marks on her planner, and grabs the bottle, the particular liquid that inhabits it being some sort of brandy. 

It’s whatever, really. She muses to herself. Medusa will do just fine. Really, it would’ve been more efficient to just take on someone a bit more “normal”, but Arachne can’t help but think she made a good choice. She doubts herself very little, it’s quite necessary in her line of work. She’s only just remembered that Medusa barred Shaula from entering the room, too. A sigh escapes her lips; that’s another person she’ll have to calm later.

 

...

 

Medusa taps a pen against her desk, it’s about all she can do to keep her mind occupied other than staring at the clock on the wall.

The past few days have been truly dull. Ravenously so. She almost wishes this was just another one of Arachne’s dumb little plans, one of the cons she thought up in her youth. Reality crushes her so. All she does is preform dull calculations and enter numerals into a spreadsheet for ten hours a day. She invents and creates nothing of value, and this fact sits constantly on her shoulders. So, she stares off into space to daydream about much nicer things. Research, whatever she last worked on. Something about the application of-

“Gorgon...?”

Her eye widen, her train of thought broken. More than once, that name gets thrown around this accursed place, and it never confuses her any less who says it, and who they direct it to. There’s three of us in this goddamn place, be specific... She internally grumbles.

“What?” Medusa hisses. 

She moves her head to the thin little woman standing next to her, and she relents in her attitude in a bit when she sees straight locks of silver hair. 

“Oh... Eruka. What did you want?”

The disturbed look on Eruka’s face worries Medusa, try as she might to be gentle with her. Eruka is a bit of a cowardly pushover, but nice enough and useful as an assistant. Neither of them are exactly swimming in friends at this place, so they’ve decided that talking to each other isn’t so bad. 

Sure, Eruka is incredibly terrified of Medusa, but she’s trying. She does her best to swallow the lump in her throat as she nervously slides a stack of papers across the desk.

“I-uh... some more... stuff.” She sputters, her hands still a bit shaky from Medusa’s snarl. The papers she’s given to Medusa are mostly numerals, a bunch of useless and uninteresting mixture of garbage that Medusa is supposed to copy. 

“Thank you. Is there anything else?” Medusa inquires, her tired hands already starting to sort the mass of papers that now sits before her. Eruka simply shakes her head, and trots away to attend to some other nonsense on the other side of the room. Medusa admires her in a way, the abnormally high amount of patience she demonstrates. It’s almost calming, in a sense.

The work, of course, isn’t calming. 

She can’t bring herself to hate it as much as she thought she would. It doesn’t inspire that much emotion. It isn’t bad enough for her to hate it, at least with any real force behind it. All she can do is roll her eyes, and go back to recording and typing for another few hours. She’s barely been at this for a week, and she’s already started dissociating. Maybe getting a more menial job would have suited her, at least then it would inspire some more vigor within herself. Until then, she wagers that she basically sold her soul for some weirdly dull office job. 

There’s always that bit of dread within the back of her mind, the concept of her being in this place for the rest of her career. Is this really it? She wonders, her brow starting to sweat. The concept is so terrifying to her, and she can’t really place why. Most people would kill to have a job like her, a nice air conditioned office and simple, if insanely dull, work. Still, she never feels content with the idea. Medusa just keeps rubbing her temple trying to find an answer; she ends up reckoning that she should talk to more people.

She had plenty of friends, back then. Her old job, that was her people, the sort she tried her best to build a comradery with. They understood each other, on a certain level that none of her current coworkers ever will. They all knew about the pull that science had for them, their research was powerful. She had a chance to change the world, then, and she was going to find a way to do it again. There’s a smile growing on her lips, as she rummages through the ideas she’s had stored for so long.

Just a bit longer... I’ll save up some cash and start again. Maybe move somewhere new...

Her daydreams are swiftly interrupted by more footsteps, a familiar tone accompanies them this time around. She doesn’t even need to stop staring at her screen.

“Eruka? What’s wrong?”

Eruka isn’t the sort of person to ask too much of anyone, and she’s learned in her sort of career to mostly just keep quiet. Therefore, it’s a bit strange of her to ask things of others, especially the weird lady she’s heard so many disturbing things about. Still, she feels compelled to do so anyways.

“Uh... would you mind coming to lunch with me later? It’s fine if you can’t...”

Medusa’s eyes widen, as Eruka is just left to nervously rub her hands together. Really, Medusa isn’t one to engage in weird bonding experiences, and she finds Eruka a bit strange and cowardly. She is the only person here she doesn’t entirely dislike in some form or another though.

“Sure. Just text me where and when, okay?” Medusa offers, hastily jotting her number down onto a torn slip of paper. Eruka smiles, a bit too much to seem natural, but she graciously seems to accept it before hastily running off. Medusa is just left to stare back at her laptop screen, wondering what the real point of all of that was.

Oh well, it could always be worse. She figures. She’s been taking what she can get lately, and she supposes this is just another part of that period of her life.

 

...


	4. It's a savage and pretty miserable life

...

 

Medusa can’t really stand the coffee they have here. Maybe it’s the way its brewed, or just the particular brand, but it’s positively revolting to her. Bitter beyond belief, and she’s long since been used to coffee taken wholly black. She wonders if it’s more the fact that she finds no joy in it anymore, with how routine it’s become. She slinks down in her chair and starts muttering to herself, not that it does her any good. 

The whiteboard is laden with a bunch of multicolored markings that she doesn’t care to remember the significance of, she’s dimly reminded of the meeting she was just in. She lazily recorded three pages of notes, she’ll just go through those whenever she gets home; she could almost be mistaken for thinking herself to be alone, were it not for the faint squeaking sound in the room. She sighs, almost instinctively.

“So, what do you think about my presentation?”

Shaula diligently scrubs the board free of a particular red graph with a small black eraser, a satisfied look on her face. She doesn’t get many a chance to show off, so she takes what she can get; and giving off an intricate presentation about their floor’s progress so far is serviceable. Most everyone has left, grumbling under their breath about her findings, leaving only Medusa moping in her chair.

“It was... certainly interesting.” The blonde mumbles, barely loud enough for Shaula to hear it over her cleaning. Shaula frowns in response at Medusa’s disinterest, but ignores it in favor of keeping the peace. She’s learned a long time ago that there are simply times where one has to be reserved, and where one has to shout. She’s never been good at either, to be honest. 

“You gonna’ be free later?” Shaula asks, her hands never stopping from erasing every stray mark on the whiteboard. 

Medusa opens one wide and bats it in her direction. “Maybe... I have to go pick up Crona from his friend’s house.” She explains.

Shaula suddenly turns on her heels and crosses her arms, almost making the dazed Medusa fall out of her seat. “Aw, come on!” She pleads. “He can come with us, I just want to go eat dinner or something.”

Medusa waves her hand dismissively. “I said maybe. I’m tired Shaula. You’ll understand when I’m your age.”

Shaula’s frown grows, and she plants her hands into her hips. “Your age!? You’re two years older than me, and only by a day!”

The elder sister plants her face into her hands and groans. Yes, Medusa is Shaula’s elder by only a few years, and Shaula will never let her escape from that. Medusa never understood why, she never used her status to get Shaula to do things that many times. 

“Besides,” Shaula continues, “you work out more than I do anyways... come on!” 

Neither of them can truly deny that Medusa is unnaturally fit for being an aging mother with a stressful job, and Medusa herself can’t help but smirk about it, proud as she is. She shakes her head and sits up in her chair, trying not to giggle.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. I’m still tired Shaula, we’ll talk about it later today, okay?” Medusa concludes. It isn’t really to Shaula’s satisfaction, but the younger sister can’t really do much about it except return to dusting her erasers. 

The silence that follows gives Medusa a bit of time to think and ponder the current situation she’s in. She gathers up her notes, and can’t help but dash quick looks around the room every few seconds; something is most surely off. The room is about as everyone has left it, chairs in various positions and strewn about the room, but why did they all leave anyways? Why is she still here? Surely she can’t be the only one who wanted to stay for some reason or another. She can barely focus on it for very long, as she sees to have lost her pen. Where the hell did I put it...? She sees it on the floor and slowly reaches to grab it, as a strange sense of dread begins to crawl over her.

Why the hell am I so nervous? God, I need to get some more sleep than usual-

“SHIT!”

Her hands clasp her forehead, now searing with pain, sharp at first, now slowing to a dull throb. Her swearing would’ve woken up anyone in the complex, were this an apartment. Her watery eyes find it harder to see than normal, and she doubts it’s the tears causing it.

“Shaula!” She yells, “Turn the goddamn lights back on, what the hell is wrong with you!?” 

Medusa hears a few assorted things falling onto the floor, she’s willing to wager its mostly markers and other forms of stationary. “Whaaa-I didn’t do that!” Shaula yells from the other end of the room, a tone of confused panic in her voice. 

“Well if you didn’t do it,” Medusa begins to question, “then who did...?” 

She slowly removes her hands from her forehead, and her question is quickly answered by a bright flash of light that forces her to shield her eyes. It’s painful and blindingly white, but it only takes a few seconds for her vision to steady again, and the perpetrator to be seen. 

“Arachne cut the theatrics out, for the love of god!” Medusa pleads. Her elder sister (now her boss, she’s internally forced to admit) has managed to place herself at the head of the long table the chairs are all lines with, her chin planted atop her folded hands. There’s an incredibly satisfied smirk on the face of the eldest sister, while the younger two are left trying to make sense of any of this. 

“You alright, dear?” Arachne questions, her smug voice attempting to pose as if it really cares about either of them very much. 

Medusa crashes her fist against the table, as her frustration briefly flies out of her. “I hit my head on the table-” 

“Well, now whose fault is that, I wonder...?”

The retort is brief, but it pisses Medusa off more than anything she’s been told in quite a while. She gets a mental image of how enjoyable it would be to wring Arachne’s neck with her bare hands, but she’s ultimately able to suppress the need for violence. 

“What do you want? How did you even...” Medusa hisses, her voice trailing off in a mixture of confusion and pain.

Arachne, of course, is all too eager to offer an explanation. She claps her hands together and smiles. “Oh, I had Mosquito close all the drapes, as you can see,” She begins, waving her hand to a bunch of shut curtains, “then I just had Giriko throw a breaker on my signal! I run in... It was simple, really.”

Medusa doesn’t really get all of it. She doesn’t understand how Arachne managed to calculate that they would be so confused as to not hear her, and she really doesn’t get how she managed to time it so well. She doesn’t care much either, granted. 

Shaula steadies and picks herself up from the floor, she ended up tripping over a loose stack of paper, most of them lie scattered around her. “But why?” She questions, her usually worried and submissive voice growing quickly indignant.

“Aw, come on girls! I like to have a bit of fun with this, I’m sure you both understand.” 

Arachne says this, knowing full well that neither of them understand. They never will, because they aren’t her. She’s a very special lady, after all, and Medusa nor Shaula shall ever come to fully realize who she is and what she is capable of. She almost becomes lost in herself for a moment, the power she holds is incredibly mundane, but also more fun than she would at first admit. This business has its perks. Medusa is just left wondering why the hell either Giriko or Mosquito agree to do this stuff, before deciding it isn’t important enough to worry about.

“Listen you two, I just wanted to have… a chat, of sorts.” Arachne explains, a wide smile governing her emotions. “Medusa is new here, and I think it’s just a good time.”

Shaula crosses her arms. “For what?”

“Consider it a family gathering, of sorts!” Arachne declares, causing Medusa to instinctively shirk and Shaula to wistfully sigh.

“The last time we were all in the same room together was for mom’s funeral…”

Medusa and Arachne can absolutely not help but groan in unison. Shaula has a sad smile on her face, and Medusa is just preparing for some sort of weird lecture. 

Medusa is the first to react, resting her cheek on her palm. “Do you really need to bring up mother now? You need to let go, Shaula.”

“I’ll concur with Medusa on this.” Arachne hastily points out. 

Both of them are staring at Shaula now, whose adopted a more stern persona in a quick few seconds. She crosses her arms and furrows her brow, as both of her elder sisters prepare for her to start crying or something similar.

“Come on, you know she wouldn’t want us to act like this!” Shaula exclaims, a bit loudly for the small conference room. Medusa and Arachne raise their brows in surprise at her statement, as neither of them know how to respond.

Arachne does her part in trying; she tilts her head in an inquisitive manner. “What does that mean? Act like what?”

Shaula, for once in her career at this place, sees something of a chance. She straightens her posture, steps on a textbook on the floor to make herself seem more prominent, and flies into the first speech that pops into her head.

“Like this!” She restates, flaring her hands around the room for emphasis. “We barely talk to each other, we barely see each other, and when we do talk we act like miserable pricks to each other! What kind of life is that? Now, we’re all stuck at this same damn place, and we still don’t even try to be family!”

Truly, Shaula never knew much about mother, or what she would’ve wanted. She loved her most dearly, of course, but that didn’t prevent mother from being gone so often. Maybe it’s a more innocent mind filling in the blanks; she acknowledges this in her consciousness, but she doesn’t really care that much. She likes to think in the spirit of things, anyways.

Still, her sisters remain unconvinced. Medusa is too cynical, and Arachne is too cold (at least, that’s how Shaula sees it). They both share a long stare at each other, before the younger of the two attempts to respond in a cohesive manner.

“Shaula… we’re not children anymore, we can all handle ourselves.” Medusa explains, her voice actively trying to stay as neutral as possible. Shaula grunts and rolls her eyes, before launching into another offensive.

“That’s not what I meant! I…”

Her voice starts trailing off, inciting both of her sisters to cross their arms as their patience starts to wear thin for this particular topic. Shaula does her best to consider her next words carefully, and she supposes she’s come up with something that might sound clever. 

“You know what… you’re right! We are adults! So let’s act like them! No more of this passive-aggressive thing where we ignore each other and pretend we don’t exist!” She begins, raising her voice even further, her speech easily audible to anyone close to the room on the outside.

Arachne, for one, can’t help but grin at this, even while Medusa rolls her eyes. It’s a decent counter, and in her particular occupation, she can respect a silver tongue. Sure, one needs a better voice, but that can always be trained. She almost feels like clapping or something similar.

“That’s pretty good, dear. You should get a job as an orator, you would be perfect.”

Her smug comment isn’t lost against Shaula, worked up as she is. She stomps her heel against the textbook, and grits her teeth. “I’m serious! I’ve been wanting to say this for weeks... Do neither of you care, or what?”

Shaula’s voice is on the border of breaking, a mixture of pent up emotion and a sore throat from her earlier presentation starting to take to her. Both of her sisters are nominally impressed. It’s very strange to see Shaula yell, normally quiet as she is. She’s a quirky woman with a bit too many personal issues to really make great company, but this is a bit strange, even for her.

The eldest of the three is a lady of particular preferences. She likes when things are organized, and everything is on time. She also isn’t a very large fan of when people interrupt her carefully planned meetings. Sisterhood doesn’t concern her very much in this matter.

“Shaula… you’re wasting my time. If you want, we can talk about this after business hours.” 

Arachne’s words are blunt, emotionless, and not entirely unexpected to either of her sisters. Shaula’s red cheeks and nervous posture don’t seem to help her case much. She does her best to get another word in, of course.

“B-but-”

“But nothing, dear. I came to have a nice conversation and talk about Medusa’s progress this week, and you’ve turned it into a needless spectacle. I expect your presentation in written format by tomorrow, and would remind you both you’re still on my time.”

She utters the last two words by glancing at both Shaula and Medusa, the look on her face now more than annoyed. Not angry exactly, but… disappointed, in a way. Arachne stands up, walks to the door, and leaves, without any pomp or ceremony. Much less unique than how she entered. Medusa gives a concerned glance over to Shaula, feet still planted on some calculus textbook from the seventies.

“Are you okay?” She prods, keeping her voice at the neutral tone she’s kept throughout this encounter. Shaula keeps her arms clutched close to her body and adopts a weary and tired look on her face. She feels like crying, but refrains from doing so, if only not to further embarrass herself.

“I’m really sorry… I just-”

Medusa quickly interrupts. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I get it. Arachne is an ass, you’re gonna’ be okay though.”

There’s a disturbing silence in the room, as Shaula attempts to keep her emotions under control, and Medusa is mostly at a loss with what to say. The elder proposes that Shaula isn’t entirely wrong, maybe they have been a bit mean to each other over the years. But what else do they do? They were never a normal family to begin with, and Medusa always considered herself too stoic for love anyways. She internally grumbles and preemptively cringes at what she’s about to say.

“Hey… I get it, and I’m sorry. How about we go for dinner, later tonight?”

It takes a minute to register in Shaula’s mind, and she quickly finds her face lifting up. “Y-you mean it…?”

Medusa gives a smile. It’s small, and she doesn’t know it she’s forcing it or not, but she gives it anyways. “Sure. I’ll bring Crona, if you want.”

“Yeah! Yeah, I haven’t seen him since he graduated middle school.” 

The two of them share a smile for the first time in a very long time. They both feel pretty terrible, for reasons different and similar. 

“I’m also sorry, about your hair. What I said…” Medusa continues, supposing that she isn’t going to get a less awkward situation to apologize for that. 

Shaula hastily takes up the reins of the conversation. “No… it’s oka-”

“No, no-” Medusa interrupts. “I shouldn’t have said that. I just… want you to do whatever you want to do, okay? Don’t feel beholden to what other people want.”

The younger sister smiles again, a bit more watershed. She’ll take what she can get, it’s not exactly often that Medusa apologizes to anyone, anyways. Besides, she supposes this situation could be worse. Her childhood was miserable, so why is she spending so much energy trying to fix something that was never even good? Is it her duty? Shaula doesn’t really know.

Shaula can scarcely fix or control her own emotions, and Medusa truly despises what she does in life now. Still, they can try to improve, or they can falter and be miserable. Both of them, in their own ways, are at least going to try. They’ll get to Arachne, eventually; they just need time. Shaula won’t stop until she fixes whatever keeps them apart. Medusa supposes she can entertain the concept for a bit. The elder sister muses, and smiles.

It’s at least more fun than typing in Excel all goddamn day.

 

...

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have much to say about this story, other than that I let time get away from me and wish i could have wrote it longer; I pretty much ended up writing the first half of a story that I intended to have a much bigger payoff. I fully intend to come back to this AU, and have a direct sequel of sorts, but this is in the future. Anyways, thank you very much for reading!


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